harmonious
by decrescence
Summary: A story of a man who never believed in himself, and the wise words of the one who showed him that he could. "Play in time with your heartbeat," She whispered. "Let it be your guide." SasuSaku. Deaf!Sasuke AU.
1. pianissimo

**i.** **movement one**; pianissimo  
_august, 2012_

* * *

Many things happen at once.

A café door opens to welcome in a flurry of customers, amongst them a few tourists, a young couple, a college professor, and a woman whose name tastes like spring. A small, silver bell above the doorframe chimes happily as if to greet them, although its song is mostly lost in the medley of sounds in the busy shop.

The pitter-patter of the rain outside is quickly drowned out by the lively roar of the customers' chatter and laughs, the clinks of their half-filled coffee mugs, and the muted clatter of little dishes being washed in the kitchen sinks, but shoulders still shudder as damp, cold air wafts through the gap of the closing door. The orchestra symphony being played by an old phonograph in the corner of the room goes almost unnoticed, but a few finely-tuned ears listen to it with rapt attention, and a certain pair wishes that it could.

Most faces are alight with smiles or at least marked by a slight upturn of the lips, but one face remains grim, mouth pulled downwards so tautly the expression seems permanent. Like his lips, the male's eyebrows are cast down and furrowed as well, and his long, thin fingers are coiled so tightly around his cup of hot coffee that his knuckles whiten. But despite his tension, he is alert and aware, and his eyes immediately dart to the side as a figure passes his booth.

A woman walks by with a spring in her step and a grin on her features—she doesn't seem to be affected by the dreary weather—and she happily meets the nonchalant gazes that flicker her way with brief nods.

When she reaches the front station to place her order, he leans forward a bit but is out of earshot, though he wouldn't have been able to hear her speak even if he had been close enough. The woman signs her receipt with the flick of her wrist and a practiced flourish, and he idly notices that the tips of her dark tresses are shocked with a dull pink that must have been ten shades brighter when first dyed. '_Probably was a wild teenager,'_ he muses to himself.

Her head bows gently at the cashier when he hands her a cup of vanilla latte, and she turns on her heel gracefully like a perfect ballerina and skims the crowd for an empty seat.

There are none in the café—Tuesday afternoons are _always_ the busiest—besides the vacant portion of his booth, and, expecting her to leave, he shifts his attention to his own coffee and the feathery wisps of steam rising from the mug in loose curls. Then, he lifts the cup to his mouth halfheartedly and almost instantaneously grimaces at the taste—much too sweet for his liking.

Pushing the mug away, he leans back against the cushioned chair and sighs deeply. His eyelids begin to feel heavy, but before he can let them flutter close, he catches a glimpse of rosy pink, and his head lolls to the side.

It is the lady from before, bright smile and all. Dark brows arched, he forces himself into more of an upright position, and although his scowl deepens, her smile remains. Her pastel lips move to form words and part in soft laughter, but the sounds do not reach the male's ears, and they never will. She speaks, but he does not listen, but he might have if he could.

The woman's smile falters only once, as a pretty blush dusts her face, and she tries again, raising her free hand from her side to gesture. She first points to herself and next, the empty seat adjacent from him, face hopeful.

After a few moments of unsteady silence, he relents, exhaling again before giving a tense jerk of his head. The woman beams, and for the first time in who-_knows_-how-long, he forgets to frown.

Clutching her oversized tote, she slides into the booth and sets her drink to her diagonal left. Her mouth parts again, and when the man does not lift his gaze from his coffee to acknowledge her, her thin eyebrows crinkle together. "Excuse me," She asks, raising her voice in attempt to catch his attention. "Sir, can you hear—"

Then the rhythmic drumming of her fingers against the mosaic-covered table ceases, and she realizes.

Her hands dart to her bag, and she pulls out a piece of slightly crumpled stationery. With a click of a pen, she writes in small, neat script.  
_  
'Can you hear me?'  
_  
The man's eyes narrow in suspicion as she slides the note across the table's surface, but nevertheless, they skim the words. He meets her gaze and shakes his head once, almost threateningly.

She pulls the paper back and writes again.

_'Are you deaf?'_

And much to her surprise, undefined loops of his handwriting form under her own, appearing abstract beneath her uniform letters.

_'Is that a problem?'_

"No," She breathes, with a horizontal jolt of her chin.

The paper remains in the center of the table, between their half-emptied cups of coffee, and silence resumes. The woman's fingers return to the table's face, moving sinuously and with precision, tapping delicately like the ongoing rain. Her eyes close, and the man can't help but watch her slender fingers dance across the mosaic.

_'How beautiful,'_ He thinks to himself, and he has only thought so of something twice.

He finds himself mimicking her movements, her perfect staccatos, her gentle trills. Completely immersed by her motions, his facade fades for the first time in a century, and it only returns after she stops.

Her hand moves to her face, catching his attention, and she smiles when she sees that he is following her. Her lips move again, and this time, he watches closely—his unique way of listening.

"You'd make a great pianist," She murmurs.

He reaches for the pen and begins to scrawl on the last line of the sheet but stops. He folds the paper over, tucking it away.

When he looks up to her, she is still smiling.

"I could teach you how to play, if you'd like," She says. "I've been playing the piano since I was a girl."

He tips his head, as if to ask _'why?'_ and she shrugs.

"I feel like... I feel like I was meant to teach you," She pauses. "It's a strange feeling, but that's what it is."

And inside, he understands; he understands because he feels the same way too, for some odd reason. But instead of falling into deep contemplation, he lets a shadow of a smile ghost his face and slips the paper into his pocket, finding it too personal to share but too important to forget.

_'I've always wanted to play piano,'_ it reads.

* * *

**a/n: Hi guys, it's been a while! I was writing this piece for a competition at school, and out of habit, I gave the characters similar personalities to Sasuke and Sakura, so I decided to go ahead and upload it here. ^^**

**I was considering posting the whole story in one chapter, but I feel that it's just a tad bit long for a single chapter and has potential to span out to at least three chapters—and I've been mainly writing oneshots for a while, so a change in that would be good. **

**Anyway, the middle and ending are already completed, but I'll be tweaking and hopefully lengthening them in the meantime. I'll most likely have chapter two uploaded by next week! **

**As always, thank you so much for reading, and tell me what you think of 'harmonious'! Any suggestions of things that could happen in upcoming chapters would be greatly appreciated as well!**


	2. mezzo-piano

**ii.** **movement two**; mezzo-piano  
_march, 2013_

* * *

Seven months later, they know each other by name; she calls him 'Sasuke-kun' (despite all the times he's told her to drop the honorific), and he writes to her as 'Sakura'.

They meet weekly, as they have since the day they met, and sometimes even more. Most appointments are spent at Sakura's apartment, the pair sitting side by side at her baby grand piano, but they still go out to that same café every so often when the weather is exceptionally bright and clear.

They have seen each other so many times that they memorized every minuscule detail of each other's faces, and Sasuke has come to love the little crinkles by Sakura's eyes that show when she laughs but would never imagine telling her, just as she would never hope to ask about the thin scar by his jaw that she accidentally glimpsed once.

He has also memorized the eighty-eight keys on the piano which sits by the wide, ceiling-to-floor windows in her sunny, but slightly cluttered living room, looking down upon the vast cityscape of Tokyo from her complex's fourteenth floor. Every note, rest, and penciled-in edit on his music sheets would materialize in his mind each time he closes his eyes, even when he wasn't _trying _to remember them, and the feeling of the piano's vibrations coursing through his veins like gentle electricity would visit him in his sleep almost every night.

During all the times they met, they'd sit together at the piano at one point, whether it be promptly when Sasuke arrived or after their trip to the café, and they'd practice various exercises and scales, pirouetting across the keyboard for hours at a time. The journey was quite difficult for the both of them; Sasuke's disability made it much harder for him to learn, and his progress would be a bit stunted at times and plateau for a while before rising again. But regardless of this, Sakura taught him patiently, moving slowly but steadily through easier and later more difficult songs.

Some days, she would even sing while Sasuke played, weaving words off the top of her head into the melodies though rarely did the music she taught him ever have any lyrics assigned to the notes. And despite not being able to hear her, Sasuke liked to think she had a beautiful singing voice because he thought she seemed exactly like the type of person who would.

The songs she showed him were often duets, so they'd play together in synchrony, and in a way, this was how they got to know one another. Something about the music, harmony, and the little smiles they shared brought them closer together and established an underlying connection that both of them were aware of but never really mentioned aloud.

Other songs would be meant for just one—these would sometimes be more difficult since Sasuke had to play alone, but he never gave up and only tried harder.

Today is no different.

Today is no different, except in the way that Sasuke's mistakes are more frequent and prominent, and he gets more frustrated than he usually does when he trips up.

"Play with more motion," Sakura coaxes from beside him, her fingertips grazing the words _'piu mosso'_ on the sheets whilst her other hand moves to gesture in the air. "It's easy, watch."

Her hands settle into place atop the keys, and she begins to play the song with such ease that it seemed she had done so a million and one times before. She turns away, absorbed in the sounds, and for a fleeting moment, the scowl that had over time faded from Sasuke's face reappears.

Frowning, he pulls a piece of paper from the lid of the piano and scrawls against it, and then places it in front of the music to obscure Sakura's view.

_'It's not easy.'_

Sakura lifts her hands from the keys and looks at him, question swirling through her irises, but before she can say anything, Sasuke pushes her away and rises, long legs carrying him out of her apartment. She hears the door slam and quickly stands to follow him, bringing the sheet of paper along with her.

She runs to catch up with him and scarcely makes it into the same elevator in one piece. Sasuke's hands are hidden deep within the pockets of his cardigan, and his back is turned on her, but Sakura grabs onto his arm abruptly—something she would have never done in the past, but today, she feels she can. He casts a heavy, dark look towards her and tries to recoil, and she still holds on.

"You're amazing," She says earnestly, her voice a bit out of breath. "You're diligent, and you're hard-working—you're an _inspiration_, Sasuke-kun, I swear."

She pauses here, and his eyes are locked on her lips, watching.

"Not many people are like you—most people would have given up a long time ago, but you haven't, and that in itself is so, utterly amazing. You're talented, too; you just don't think you are. But you know what?—"

She holds out the piece of paper, and written on it are four words.  
_  
'I believe in you.'_

Then something happens; something inside of Sasuke explodes, the scowl slips from his features, and he sees fireworks. Suddenly, he's leaning towards Sakura, and his long-fingered hands are cupping her face, rough against her soft-to-the-touch skin. And he angles his head as if he is about to kiss her but slowly shifts his arms so that they are around her waist instead because he wouldn't, _couldn't _kiss her, though he might have once already, in a dream.

* * *

**a/n: Hello, hello! Ahaha, I think this is the fastest I've ever updated one of my stories! ...It seems I've adopted the habit of updating about every three months, if at all, but I'm trying my best to fix this, I swear. o-o; **

**I personally like how this story is coming along so far, but please, _do_ tell me what you think! Suggestions of what could happen in upcoming chapters are always appreciated—speaking of which, a million thanks to KARASU25 for the ideas; I'm definitely considering adding them in somewhere. I will do my best to appease!**

**I hope you guys have been well, and thank you for reading!**

**[Also, come visit me on Tumblr! ****— ruukina . tumblr . com****] **


	3. mezzo-forte

**iii. movement three**; mezzo-forte  
_april, 2013_

* * *

There is a knock at the door.

And another.

And another, and another, and another, quickly followed by a shower of a half trillion more.

Then, the knocking stops.

The echoes of the sudden ruckus dissipate slowly into the unseasonably chilly spring air, fading into the silence that goes unnoticed as well. The newborn quiet is enveloped by the rhythmic drone of footsteps against pavement, car horns and wheels skidding across asphalt, and muted laughter in the distance, all of the sounds molding to fit each other in something akin to perfection but not completely so. Something is disturbing the balance.

A thin hand lifts from a shallow cardigan pocket and extends towards a silver doorknob, which is as cold as death to the touch. Closing around the shape, the hand pulls, and cherry pink lips soon part in surprise—the owner was not expecting the door to be unlocked.

It opens unnaturally—eerily, like they do in horror movies—and its hinges, suddenly awakened from a deep slumber, yawn one by one. As the woman steps into the small apartment, ribbons of sunlight stream through the growing gap of the door, moving almost hesitantly, like a young, timid child.

The apartment is dark and solemn, as if light never had visited, but there is a pair of old, tattered slippers by the (_also_ rather old and tattered) welcome mat inside to greet her, and a small smile brightens her face.

There is something about the little things in the complex that Sakura finds simply endearing. Yes, the place was a bit dark and in desperate need of a thorough cleaning, but the little things: the slippers, the music sheets scattered against the coffee table, the obviously well-loved books in little stacks by the couch, and the few picture frames adorning the walls make up for both.

It is the little things that mark the apartment as Sasuke's home, not the darkness or the empty feeling.

And it is also the little things about Sasuke that Sakura has learned to adore as well.

The way he'd sometimes scoff to hide laughter, bite his lip to hold back a smile, his tendency to sneeze when it rained, the way he liked his coffee black but preferred green tea over anything else… There are enough quirks to fill the pages of the longest novel in the smallest font, and Sakura has noticed them all.

She had been left feeling empty without their meetings during the past month, like a part of her had been carved out and set aside. Sasuke had informed her through a text that he was going to take a break for a while, and since she knew how rigorous their schedule was, Sakura agreed and told him to take as long as he wanted. Little did she know that his equivalence of "taking a break" was to quietly fade away, to disappear.

After a span of two weeks where seconds felt like hours, Sakura received another text from Sasuke: 'Not feeling well. Don't bother me.' to which she responded with a rush of messages asking what was wrong, but all went unanswered.

In sheer attempt to distract herself, Sakura began working more frequently at the nearby hospital where she had been employed at for the last year. But during every moment not spent with a patient, her disobedient thoughts drifted towards Sasuke, and hazy memories of him periodically haunted her mind.

Although she didn't want to admit it, another two weeks without him was more than enough, and she soon found herself at his front step.

Considering she has only visited him once before to drop off new music sheets, Sakura navigates through the apartment with ease. She quickly finds the door to Sasuke's bedroom, which is already half-open, and after a fleeting moment of hesitation, she slips through the frame.

His form lies neatly across the bed, slender arm draped around the waist of a slightly deflated white pillow. Carefully, Sakura paces towards the bed, and with only her index finger, taps his shoulder several times but much more gently than the way she had rapped on his door.

"Sasuke-kun," She murmurs, and although she knows he won't hear her, the familiar taste of his name on her tongue makes her smile.

Sleep possesses Sasuke for a few more seconds, but within moments, his heavy lidded eyes open to show dark irises. Even after comprehending the form standing before him, his eyes still remain sleepy. They don't widen the way Sakura had expected them to, and it almost seems as if he has been waiting for her to visit.

Both remain silent; Sakura's stare is locked on Sasuke, but his is centered elsewhere. And despite him not wanting to meet her gaze, she realizes that it isn't sleepiness that his eyes hold but something else he's never shown her.

Sasuke turns away when she kneels beside the bed, but her nimble fingers grab his arm. She whispers his name, for herself more than him, and her hand entwines with his.

His hand feels like a harsh winter night, frozen against her own. Sasuke pulls it away before she can say anything and reaches towards a yellow notepad on the bed stand instead.

The words, _'Why are you here?'_ form in messy script on the blue-lined page, and he pushes it into her hands.

She writes back, _'I've been worried about you,' _but once he skims the page, Sasuke plucks the notepad from her and tosses it in a low arch across the bed.

Confused, Sakura quickly rises from her position and moves to retrieve the pad. The room is as dark as the rest of the apartment, and she has trouble seeing the dim light. She crouches down, and when her fingertips graze a piece of paper, she picks it up instead.

Sasuke's back is turned on her, and her eyes wander the page without being granted permission. She notices the distinct font and loopy signature at the bottom of the page first—both seem oddly familiar. She squints a little and is finally able to make out the typed words.

"To Uchiha Sasuke:

Your inquiry regarding a cochlear implant has been processed. We are happy to inform you that our hospital is indeed capable of performing this particular surgery which should grant you your hearing. We would like to schedule an appointment with you at a time that is convenient. Please send reply when possible; we look forward to working with you..."

The letter goes on and on, explaining about the surgery in incredible detail. The more Sakura reads, the wider the opportunities for Sasuke seem to become, but when she reaches the price at the very end of the page, she immediately knows it is the reason Sasuke is feeling so blue. Being without a job, such an amount would be a slap in the face to him, but surely, _surely,_ she could do something about it…

Letter in hand, she approaches him again at the side of the bed. Sasuke's eyes follow her, and when he notices the paper held between her fingers, a scowl dons his features. He sits up listlessly and pries the sheet from Sakura's hands, ignoring her gaze all the while.

Sakura's lips bend into a frown, mirroring Sasuke's own, and she leans forward and grabs ahold of his wrists. "Sasuke-kun," she says. "Look at me."

Sasuke's eyes meet with hers for the first time that day, and the moment suddenly becomes overwhelming for her. Beneath the darkness of his irises is sadness so carefully tucked away and hidden that she almost misses its presence. She catches only a glimpse, but she can see, can _feel_ the sadness looming inside of him—and the very thought breaks her.

"I can pay," She continues, while he is still watching her lips. "I'll pay for your surgery, so you'll be able to hear just like—"

Sasuke's hands travel upwards, and he cups them against Sakura's mouth, silencing her. When her brows lift upwards in question, he simply shakes his head, though his frown has slipped from his features.

Sakura pushes him away. "I have lots in savings from the hospital," she insists. "The surgery is expensive, but I'll manage! Let me do this, Sasuke-kun! I can—"

She cuts off, noticing the growing smile on Sasuke's lips. He is still shaking his head, _'no,'_ but his expression now holds something close to soft adoration.

Sasuke reaches for the yellow notepad he had previously tossed askew and lets new characters form below their preceding conversation. He holds it out towards Sakura, who accepts the words as if they were a present.

_'You've done more than enough for me,'_ the page reads. _'Thank you.'_

A smile floods her face, his heart races, and that is when he closes the distance.

* * *

**a/n: Hi guys! Sorry this update came so slowly**—**I've been trying to update more quickly, but it seems that I'm doing just the opposite... **

**If any of you noticed that I mentioned this was a piece for a writing competition at school, I was recently told that I actually won first place with it, and I'm super excited about that ^^**

**Please don't hesitate to tell me what you think of 'harmonious' or give any suggestions of what you might like to see happen next! I'd like to put emphasis on the latter part, though, because I'm honestly torn on what to put in the next chapter.**

**And a big thanks goes out to those of you who have already reviewed; it really, really means a lot!**

**[Come visit me on Tumblr! — ruukina . tumblr . com]**


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